When Wrong Is Right
by FatCatTango
Summary: Because the son of the Emperor always gets what he wants... LarsaPenelo. OneShot.


**A/N** - I really don't know how this story came to be. It kinda just wrote itself. Anyways, enjoy!

**Disclaimer** - I do not own FFXII, I'm simply toying with the characters for a bit.

**WARNING** - This fic is rated M for a reason.

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Penelo was confused.

She didn't understand how she had gotten herself into this predicament. When had she entered his tent? Why had she entered? And what could she have said that would've driven him to this?

The restraints around her wrists were tight, every struggle against them was causing her delicate, white skin to chaff. The ground beneath her was cold and hard, impaling her harshly every time she was pressed against it. The body intimately rubbing against her was warm, comforting, but not right, not even legal. Because _he _was the one restraining her, _he _was the one pressing her into the floor, it was _his _body that felt so pleasant against her own.

_Larsa…_

She had protested. He had persisted.

His fingers were nimbly unknotting the ties that kept her navy jumper in its place. He ignored her whimpers of objection, opting instead to let his mouth skim the smooth skin of her neck. He nibbled on the edge of her collarbone, his hands dragging the jumper off her writhing body. She inhaled sharply, the cold air caressing her body in a way she never felt before. His tender lips descended, gently brushing the top of her exposed breasts. Penelo's body shook, but not for the same reasons it had before. It wasn't fear this time, it was an emotion far from it.

She begged him to stop. He apologized because he couldn't.

His lips latched on to her nipple, his hands wandering her body with no distinct destination. He just wanted to feel her. To know her like he had always wanted, but she had always denied him. But not this time, this time she would be his. His ministrations continued, causing Penelo's back to arch, her voice crying out. His lips moved back to her neck, his nose nuzzling the crook he found there. Fingers went in a different direction, tracing patterns over her most sensitive skin. She was already wet. Even if he was forcing her, it must have still felt good. He stroked her nub, marveling at the reactions that followed. Her body jerked in surprise, her mouth fell open, but she allowed no sound to escape. He liked it. She did too, but would not admit it.

She pleaded now, tears in her eyes. His only response was one swift thrust.

And then Penelo lost it.

She knew it was wrong. It felt wrong. Because this, what they were getting away with in his tent in the middle of the night, felt perfect. Nothing in Penelo's life felt this right. Larsa's young, lithe body slowly thrusting into her, his forehead pressed against her neck, not being able to reach her forehead. The screams of denial became sighs of encouragement, the forced touches were now accepted caresses. And that's what made it so wrong.

Everything that had kept this from happening was irrelevant now. It didn't matter if he was the emperor's son. It didn't matter that she was a lowly street urchin. It didn't matter if he was so much younger, or that she was so unworthy. The only thing that had any relevance was being together, with him.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear.

Penelo couldn't explain the emotions that ran through her mind at that moment. So many sensations were racking her body that she couldn't process any thoughts at that moment. But his hush confession played through her mind over, and over, and over again. All she knew was that his lips were very close, she had yet to feel them against her own, and she had a thirst for them that she wanted to quench. Forcing her limbs to move, she launched her body forward, dipping her head and pressing her lips firmly to his.

He let out a cry of surprise but quickly returned the gesture. His hands reached for the ropes that held her hands together, making quick work of them. They were gone and Penelo knew what she should do. She should push him away, fight him off her, this was wrong after all.

But she couldn't. His lips were too tempting, gently suckling her own. His sensual thrusts produced a distinct pleasure inside of her that she had never felt before, and she didn't want him to stop. So, instead of summoning a Firaga spell, she buried one of her hands deep in his dark hair. The other one grasped at his back, her nails running down the smooth skin that she found there.

He pulled away from her, his eyes bearing into hers.

"Penelo…" he croaked, breathless.

"Don't stop," she panted.

And he obliged. He always did when it came to her, and she never really understood until now. It was because he loved her, and what she was feeling right now was his enduring, never-ending, precious love. And deep inside, Penelo thought her feelings might mirror his.

He was thrusting deeper, more aggressively, at her encouragement. Her nails started to clamber at his back, her body now rising to meet his own bucking hips. He slid up her body, grinding his pelvic bone against her, straining his neck to place soft kisses on her face. Penelo felt her body fill with unknown warmth, her eyes were losing their vision. She felt something inside of her explode, clamping down onto him.

"Larsa!" she gasped.

"Penelo!" he breathed.

He collapsed on her, his arms losing the strength to support himself. He buried his face in her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, beckoning him closer into an awkward embrace. They were sticky and tired, as they each searched for air and waited for their heartbeats to return to normal. His body was so small, but even though some of his bones stuck into her, Penelo felt perfect. He would grow, he would fill out, and he would be a remarkable man.

He would be, but now he wasn't.

For now, he was still a boy, and Penelo was already a woman. They had crossed the line, the line of the legal system, of morals, of restraint. There would be no going back for them. They would have to deal. They would pick themselves up fro here and move foreword, into the unknown future.

And that would be exactly what they would do.

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**A/N** - Yay! Thanks for reading! :)


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